What You Really Wanted
by Funkypunkydurdurchick
Summary: What happens when a vicious storm hits the band hall on an already unusual day of band practice...?
1. For the Band to Shine

For the Band to Shine

"Band, INTENSIFY!"

"Band, DECRESCENDO!"

It was pretty much the same thing day after day. The French horns went out of tune, the lower clarinets quit playing, and the baritones were laughing at some crap that had taken place in study hall earlier. Durham couldn't give everyone that evil cross-eyed glare at the same time, so he dropped his baton in frustration and cut the band off.

"Guys," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "How the heck do you expect to make honor band with this kind of crud you're putting in front of me? You can't even breathe together! My sixth graders play better than this! And they suck!" The third trumpets slumped down and pouted. "I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is! I don't know what you want me to do!" He sighed. The bell rang, and everyone jumped out of their seats and headed toward the door. Durham sighed again, walking to his office.

"Band SUCKS!" Krista exclaimed loudly as the four eighth grade girls walked toward the door. "I WANT OUT!"

"Then quit," Largo shrugged. "If you hate it that bad, then…"

"Then don't play," Laney said in her low, drawling country accent. "'Sides, my maw-muh says I dudn't gotta play anyhow 'cause 'a my azma." Laney tossed her thick blonde hair and turned her nose up.

"Laney, lots of people have asthma, and they can still play their instrument." Largo said.

"Well, Largo, some people didn't make first chair at region like you did!" Krista said, angrily.

"Well, I didn't get where I am by complaining about band being hard!" Largo shot back.

Krista was Largo's best friend, but when it came to talking about band, they never agreed. She saw Durham as a psycho, but he was Largo's savior. She went home every day and practiced, and Krista never even took her clarinet home.

Codie wedged in between Laney and Krista. "I think my sore's gettin' worse," she moaned. Largo rolled her eyes, but Laney and Krista leaned in to get a closer look at the infected mosquito bite on her forearm. "It hurts real bad."

"Well, Codie, you sat there pickin' at it all through band! Of course its getting worse!" Largo replied. Codie mimicked Largo rudely. She rolled her eyes again. "Scar yourself up for all I care," Largo murmured under her breath.

"Oh! Hang on!" Largo said quickly. The girls stopped, and Largo ran toward the directors' office. Codie rolled her eyes. "She's goin' to flirt with Durham again," she whispered.

"Shut up!" Largo yelled back. "I'm not like that!" Everyone thought Largo was attracted to Mr. Durham for some weird reason. All of the little sixth grade girls were in love with him not for his dynamic personality, but for his striking looks. His eyes pointed almost straight toward his elongated nose, and he talked with his bottom teeth in a way that was almost country-sounding, but wasn't. Durham himself was a very interesting character. The fact of the matter was that Largo merely enjoyed the presence of the band directors. Ever since Mr. Durham had turned her life around last winter, she had been eternally grateful to him. She had vowed to make All-State under his direction at some point during her high school years. For her loyalty to Mr. Durham, she was repeatedly shunned and rejected, but she kept her head above water, and she ignored all of the offensive comments directed toward her.

"Hi, Mr. Durham!" Largo called out as she walked into the office. Durham sat at his desk, his baton and his chin in his left hand. He looked up listlessly.

"Yes?" he asked. It was funny how in some ways, he still had the attitude toward things as a college student would.

"How come Monday was the first day I heard about challenging?" Largo asked.

Durham chewed on the end of his baton and looked around, then looked back at Largo. "I dunno. Why do you ask?"

Largo heard Laney, Codie, and Krista laughing at her from the entrance to the office. "Uh, kinda 'cause on Monday you talked about how all the eighth graders were bunched up down at the bottom of the section because we didn't want to challenge." He looked at Largo quizzically. She cocked her head. "I'd been waiting on you to okay challenging, but you never said anything, so I figured we weren't going to get to."

"Naw!" Mr. Durham shouted, slamming his baton down on his desk. His listless look spread into a big, goofy grin that showcased his bottom teeth. " Naw! I mean, sweetheart! If it's that big of a deal to you, shouldn't you have asked me about it way back when?"

"Yeahhhh…I guess…" She said, looking from side to side. She couldn't see what he thought was so dang funny. He continued to smile.

"Okay, okay," he said, at last settling down. He looked at Largo sideways. "Are you suggesting that you want to challenge someone?" He ran his hand through his brown hair.

"Heck, yes! Juanita sits next to me, and she can't play in tune worth anything!" Largo slapped her forehead and started pacing around the room. "Also, sometimes I wonder if she thinks she plays the piccolo! She takes everything up, like, three octaves. And, it's out of tune! And the worst part is that she—"

"Largo," Mr. Durham said, quietly.

"She tells me I'm playing the wrong notes!" I keep a tuner on my stand all the time, and after tuning myself to death, it's still outta tune!" Largo kept getting angrier the more she commented on Juanita's musicianship. "I mean, she's awful! She plays so freakin' loud! It makes my eardrums BLEED!"

"Largo?" He rubbed his face, indicating that he was getting irritated.

"I've got to challenge her and get her out of my ear! I want to make it through the year with two good ears! And also—"

"Largo!"

"Yeah?"

"You're babbling again."

"Ulp. Sorry," Largo replied. She tended to start babbling when she had a lot to say.

"Regardless, I'll set up a time for you and Juanita to play for me in the next few days. Is tomorrow good? After my dad comes to listen to the band?"

"Okay! Thank you, Mr. Durham!" Largo replied, happily. He grunted a reply and turned back toward the computer screen.

"Ooh, Largo…" Krista said. "You're so in love with Durham."

"No, I'm not!" Largo replied.

"Maybe HE'S in love with HER," Codie said, looking down at the floor. "Maybe he wants to kidnap her and run off." Largo groaned. Codie always got on her nerves, especially when she had her head in the gutter, like now. "Maybe she—"

"Shut UP, Codie," Largo finally said.

"Shut UP, Codie," Codie mimicked.

"OKAY!" Krista yelled, breaking us up. "Let's all say something random."

"I'm hown-gry," Laney said.

"Big Mama, you're always hungry!" Krista said. "Drew's takin' me to a concert next week. That's my random thing. And Kris says he has cancer."

"Largo's in love with Durham," Codie said again.

Largo shot her a dirty look, which she imitated. "Ya think there's something in that wall over there?" She pointed toward the far wall.

"You're stupid," Codie said, pushing her behind them. "There ain't nuttin' in that wall."

"How do you know?" Largo asked. "Oh, yeah, you live in it." Codie growled.

Krista grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the back wall. Once there, she gave it a few knocks. "See?" she said. "Nothing there." Largo stood quietly for a second, her head cocked. She straightened up soon enough. The four girls left the band hall quietly.

The next day was exactly the same: Largo was teased for respecting Durham, Codie mocked everything Largo said, Krista had a new story to tell, and Kris talked with a speech impediment. Then Laney ventured to the bathroom and threw a fit because she kept thinking that Largo and Krista were following her into the bathroom. Ever since Krista had sneaked into the stall next to her and heard her making weird noises in there, Laney had always been strange about it. Mr. Durham stood in the hallway giggling over something with the middle school principal. Largo smiled and waved at him, and Codie rolled her eyes.

Things never changed at Ridgey Hills. It was always exactly the same, just as it was in a storybook town. It was almost sickening how plain it could be at some times. The middle school was dark, creepy, and miserable, and all fourteen of the eighth grade students in the high school band had to put up with it. It was a rite of passage to high school. However, they left every day at precisely two-thirty for the high school band hall, and thus began another adventure. Though Largo was the only student that didn't take it for granted, the others had at least a little compassion; Middle school band was even worse than the middle school itself. The band hall had broken windows, bloodstained bathrooms, and worst of all, the teacher that the students had put up with had been some kind of pessimistic oddball, and he constantly stayed locked up in his office while the students wreaked havoc over the already chaotic setting. He was long gone now, but his students were scarred by his teachings.

Mr. Durham had altogether taken the underclassmen in and taught them what they could be, and obviously the other students didn't respect that as much as they should. In other words, Durham was perfect. He could do no wrong, and no wrong could be done unto him. Despite this, perfect people cannot always be perfect; some days could be utterly different. They could be so different, that not even Durham would know how to fix it. Nevertheless, Largo believed that Durham was a superhuman, that he could do anything. Even though she was a lowly eighth grader, she strived to be one of his best students. She wanted to make him happy.


	2. For the World to Change

For the World to Change

"Ma-jor second…" The band droned. They played three notes. "Mi-nor second," They droned again. Largo looked back at the trumpets. The second and third chairs were acting like opera singers, and Krista was staring her down from the back row of clarinets. Codie picked at her mosquito bites during the singing parts. The tubas seemed to be plotting something. The band continued until the end of the warm up. "Per-fect fifth."

"And now, kiddos," Durham said, clasping his hands together and looking Laney straight in the eye. She jumped. "I would like to present to you my dear old Daddy Durham." Everyone cheered, and the percussion went into a riot. Largo beamed.

"Hey, band!" he said.

"Hey, what?" we replied.

"Nothing, I was just saying 'hey'". A few people chucked. Krista rolled her eyes. Mr. Durham went and sat at a table in the back of the room, giggling to himself.

Raven, the ninth chair flute, turned to Largo. "Crayons!" she whispered, clapping her hands. Largo tried not to burst out laughing. A few days ago, several of Mr. Durham's friends came to listen to the band play, but by the end of the day, Mr. Durham's college director was doing all of the directing and all of Durham's colleagues sat at the back table drawing pictures. At one point, Mr. Durham got up and left, supposedly because he needed crayons.

"My little boy says that his band ain't breathing right," he said. "Surely none of you have asthma or anything like that," he said, giving us the goofy Durham smile.

Laney raised her hand. "I got azma," she said.

Daddy Durham ignored her. "Okay, we're gonna start with La Traviata. Any questions?" Largo's hand flew up. His eyes turned to her, and she felt all the blood rush to her face. "Yes, dear?"

"D'ya like crayons?" She asked, trying to seem as spastic as possible. The entire band flew into laughter. From the table at the back, Mr. Durham shot her a dirty look. It wasn't a mean look, but it was that look where he stares you right in the eye and blinks a lot. It was scary, actually.

"Well, I have to say," he started, clasping his hands together just as Mr. Durham did. "I haven't seen them in a long time, but…" he turned to his son at the back table. "Nick, remember when you used to draw me all those pretty pictures in elementary school?" Mr. Durham looked up. No one had ever seen him blush, so this was a first. "Huh?" he asked.

"Yeah! You drew me all those wonderful pictures of your best friend and you together. That was so cute." Daddy Durham sighed and came back to the real world. Half of the band was rolling on the floor by now. Mr. Durham didn't share that much about his personal life, but this was enough for any band student to blackmail him for the rest of his life.

"Okay, guys, back to La Traviata," Daddy Durham said, putting his hands up. The band was still in a fit of laughter. "GUYS!" The band went quiet. Daddy Durham smiled a mile wide. "Thank you. Okay, start at letter A. A one, two, ready, g—" A few people started off in various places, but Durham put his hands down. "Breathe together! Imagine yourself in a villa in Italy surrounded by grapevines, and all of the pretty girls are trying to woo the boys they think are just so good-looking, and the boys are trying to woo the pretty girls. This is a love song, not blululululuBLAH!" He looked down at the music score, then back up at the string bass. And while I'm thinking about it, we need to tune that string bass real quick." Napoleon, who was playing the string bass, walked up to the front of the room and turned on the tuner. It was a really boring process, so Largo started looking around.

Nothing was really going on. Raven was flirting with Swiss Guy, who sat behind her. Josie, the last chair French horn, was kicking Swiss Guy's chair, and Codie was still picking at her mosquito bites, and one of them was beginning to form a scar. Some message was traveling from the tuba section up into the trumpets. It spread quickly into the clarinets, where Krista nodded and passed it on to Laney, who sat next to her. Before long, Juanita was whispering in Largo's ear. "We're all gonna breathe together and see what he says," she whispered. "Pass it on." Largo did as she was told and whispered into Raven's ear. By the time the plan made it around to the last chair flute, the string bass was tuned.

"Start at letter A. One, two, ready…" Daddy Durham counted us off, his voice getting quieter with each beat. Sure enough, the entire band started precisely together. They played twenty measures, only to be cut off. "GUYS! COME ON!" Daddy Durham yelled. "Where's the dynamics? I'm getting the same emotion I'd get if I were directing that wall over there!" he pointed at the wall. Despite being griped at, the band started together once again. At the exact moment, rain started falling on the band hall roof. Mr. Durham looked up from drawing his pictures. He caught the eye of the second chair clarinet, and he put his fingers to his head like a pistol and acted as if he were shooting himself. She giggled to herself.

"Okay, band, let's try this again," Daddy Durham said, his intensity remaining constant. "What, do I intimidate you?" he said to the tubas. Everyone turned, only to see Drew and the other tubas curled up in their chairs behind their tubas, quivering. Napoleon was laughing his head off. Durham continued to look at them questionably. "Well?"

"We're scared of thunder," Clifton, the second chair tuba said. "Metal attracts it. Especially big metal."

Durham let a big, hearty laugh escape him. "Look. I MARCHED in conditions like this when I was in school. Your band director is nice enough to—"

"CRRRACK!" the thunder boomed from outside. The tubas shrieked hysterically.

"Guys!" Durham exclaimed. "You're INSIDE! The weather won't hurt you if you're inside the building!"

"It's scary, though!" Drew whined. As a junior, you'd expect him to be more courageous than that, but unfortunately, he wasn't. Neither was Ryan, who was a senior and section leader.

"Boys," he said, becoming more serious. "We're here to work, not to goof off. Furthermore, metal attracts lightning. Not thunder." Clifton screamed and dove into Drew's lap, dropping his tuba on the floor.

Durham sighed and raised his baton. "Okay, band," he said, apparently a little agitated from the tubas' ignorance. "Here we go again, from A. And a one, two, ready, and—" The band took off playing, and at the exact same time, the loudest thunderclap of all echoed through the building. In a split second, the lights went out. You could hear someone from the trombone section run up into the flute section and grab his girlfriend. The tubas went berserk, and people hollered and cheered. However, the excitement didn't cover that unnatural explosion from outside. The entire band turned and looked back. Little Mr. Durham looked toward the noise and felt his blood run cold. The rest of the band stared at the unusual sight, too.

It only took a moment for the swirling mass of color to cover the entire back facade of the band hall. It was almost hypnotic, like looking at one of those Rainbow Puddle backgrounds for the first time. Its roar was almost as loud as a tornado in Kansas, and no sound could be heard over it. The only difference was that it was real. Over the period of a few seconds, it grew brighter and brighter, until you could see the faces of all of the band students at a distorted angle. The tubas, whose screeching had subsided, approached it. Billy Bob giggled and jumped into it.

"No!" Daddy Durham yelled after him. It was too late, the little lard of an eighth grade tuba had already been lost. The tubas murmured, then followed him in. No one said anything, they just watched cautiously, afraid to make any sudden moved. All of a sudden, the second chair clarinet, who was one of the band director's favorite students, jumped over her chair and dove headfirst into the wall. Realizing that the most conservative student in the band was now the victim of possible tragedy, the rest of the students pushed and shoved each other, trying to jump into the wall.

"I don't know what's in there!" Largo yelled to Krista, who was next to her.

"What?" Krista yelled back.

"I DON'T KNOW—" Largo felt herself being pushed sharply in the back, she turned, grabbing Krista's sleeve. The next thing she knew, Laney was waving to her and getting smaller and smaller. Largo had been pushed into the deep pit of the wall, and Krista had gone with her, even though she was now nowhere to be seen. She began to feel lightheaded, and her vision was blurry. Colors flew by her head faster than she could even name them. She felt as if she were floating on air. It actually felt pleasant, and erased all of the cares from her mind. There was nothing strange about this setting anymore. There was no math homework due on Monday. There wasn't anyone spreading any lies about you. It was a perfect world. Largo settled down on her cloud of air and relaxed.


	3. To Have it All

To Know You're the Best

A knock came from a few feet away. Largo rubbed her mess of hair, groaning.

"Miss Largo!" an unfamiliar voice cried. "Get up!" Largo sighed and pulled back the covers. She stood up and stretched. She felt as if she had slept for weeks, and upon looking in the mirror, she looked like it, too. Wait a second, she thought. Something was wrong. She rubbed her eyes and looked closer into the mirror. Her face had cleared up! She had battled blackheads on her nose for the longest time, and just like that, they were gone. Largo raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and went into the bathroom to do her makeup. She knew she was different somehow, and it wasn't just her skin. It wasn't that her hair had grown out of the short, uneven bob, either. She felt different, as if she had just gone swimming for several hours. Her eyes burned from the deep sleep, but she had to believe what she was seeing.

"Miss Largo!" the voice called again. "You're gonna be late!" Largo gasped. Late for what? She jumped up and quickly did her makeup and threw on a wide-necked black sweater and grey pinstripe trousers. She also laced up her Converse All-Stars and tightened a chain belt around her waist. She knew that, for a teenager, she was dressed like a forty-year-old trying to look younger, but it had to do. Largo grabbed her bag and ran out the door into a long hotel hallway.

"Miss Largo!" A young girl with blonde hair cried. She threw her arms around her and squealed. Largo looked at her. She knew her from somewhere, but from where? She couldn't put her finger on it.

"Hello," a tall, lanky brunette girl said in a low country accent. "You gun' be drectin' us agin tuhday?"

Largo looked dumbstruck. The girl adjusted her belt buckle, obviously from some big rodeo thing, and looked at her. "I don't know," she finally answered. "Am I?"

"Well, yeah," the girl said. "Miz Larguh, if ya need a ride down to da cenner, juss say da word an' da drecter'll drive ya."

"Well, okay, I guess I can ride with you guys," Largo replied. She was a little puzzled by the entire situation. She could've sworn she wasn't doing any of this yesterday. She couldn't even remember where she was yesterday. She followed the brunette and the blonde out of the building and toward a black suburban. A boy with dark glasses and long black hair lay asleep in the backseat. The blonde girl giggled and shook him. "Wake up!" she said. He looked up lazily, and then dozed off again. "Come on!" she said. "Mr. King's gonna be out here soon!"

Mr. King? That name sounded so vaguely familiar to her. Where had she heard it? Where had she seen all of these people before? It was like meeting a long-lost relative; it was just like meeting any other person, but the odd sensation that followed was impossible to ignore. Largo looked up at the Holiday Inn she had just exited. Its plain white walls were lit up with the pretty purple hue that the early morning sunrise projected upon it. The highways alongside it were busy with morning traffic, as people were bustling trying to make it to work on time.

"BEEP BEEP!" The suburban's doors unlocked. Largo jumped. She heard footsteps approaching from behind her. She whirled around quickly, only to see a man with glasses and a head of rumpled dark brown hair. He wore a pink shirt and khakis, and he looked very angry.

"RYN!" he bellowed. "GET YOUR BUTT IN THE CAR!" Frantically, Largo jumped into the car, not knowing what else to do. The blonde girl, obviously called Ryn, climbed in after her. However, the brunette took her time, and the man let her do as she pleased. She must be a senior, Largo thought. He climbed into the driver's seat, with the brunette getting into the passenger seat after him. The man turned and looked at Largo scornfully. What was his problem, anyway?

"Yo, Brittany, who's that?" Largo heard him ask the brunette.

"Oh, uh, Mistuh King, dis is Miz Larguh!" Brittany replied. Largo froze. There was no telling what Mr. King was going to do now, especially in his current mood.

"Miss Largo?" he said. His face twisted into an odd, toothy grin. His sad-looking brown eyes turned up. "HEY! I woulda never recognized you!" They shook hands. "I'm sorry 'bout my hostility this morning. I'm not a mornin' person, let me tell ya."

"Mistuh King. GO. NOW." Brittany said. "We ain't gun' be late tuh practice agin."

Mr. King did as he was instructed. The brunette, who couldn't have been older than high school age, was bossing this guy around. It was actually a pretty funny sight, but knowing the kind of temper that he had, it was a little scary, too. Mr. King tried to make polite conversation, but he was always a bit irritating. "So, how old are you again?" he asked.

"Twenty-six," Largo replied. She covered her mouth immediately. Twenty-six? She wasn't going to get away with this. She was only fourteen! There was no way he was going to believe her.

"Oh, really?" he said. "Awesome! You're two years older than me. And you've accomplished this much?"

"Oh, yes, I've done many things of this caliber in other places," she said. Largo couldn't believe what she was saying. Surely this wasn't coming out of her mouth. Surely this was some twisted-up dream. "In fact—" She clapped her hand over her mouth before she could say any more.

"You were saying?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," Largo said. "It wasn't that important."

"No really, what were—"

"Oh, look! There's the convention center!" Largo shouted, pointing up ahead. The convention center? Who was she, John Malkovich? Where were all of these off-the-wall statements coming from? Largo shook her head to herself as they pulled into the parking lot.

Mr. King sighed. "Here we are, ladies. Go to your rehearsal sites, enjoy yourself, and don't eat too much of Spike's chocolate. Michelle and I are gonna take y'all to Olive Garden later." Ryn giggled and hugged Mr. King. Apparently, he wasn't a hugging person, because he pulled her off of him as if she were a pile of slop that had just been thrown at him. Largo's feet took her where she needed to go, and she just looked around. There were cars parked for miles and miles, and the large building she had seen from the highway loomed high above her head. She walked into the building. She was greeted immediately by the sounds you would usually hear in a convention center. People clamored and bustled every which way, and students carrying musical instruments were everywhere. The smells of various foods and sounds of odd music accessories filled the air. The walls were crowded with booths selling everything from mugs with treble clefs on them and songsheets to tremolos, sitars, and balalaikas. It was like nothing Largo had ever seen.

Largo's feet led her into a concert hall, where she walked up onto the stage. She stepped up onto the podium. Over a hundred high school students sat before her. What was she to do? She was only fourteen years old! Or was she twenty-six? She didn't even know who she was anymore, or how in the world she ended up atop the podium, apparently directing the All-State band. She had indeed been absent yesterday. It was all new to her. The worst thing of it all was that as a young and impressionable teenager, how was she supposed to direct an All-State band? She looked out at the students before her. Ryn waved at her from the front row of clarinets, and Brittany fingered her music from the back clarinets. The dark-haired boy that had been asleep in the back of the suburban was dozing off in the back row of trombones. She felt a little better, but it didn't help her courage. Where was that aggressive person that possessed her when she was speaking to Mr. King on the way to the convention center? Why couldn't she channel them to help her direct this band? Nevertheless, it was too late to turn back; Largo shuffled through the music scores on the stand in front of her. She cringed, noticing that the music was nothing but black dots to her. Sure, she could read music, but this music was crazy.

"Good morning," Largo said, suddenly. "I hope you all had a wonderful night last night exploring the city, shopping and all those things. I also hope you all got a good night's sleep, because we're going to try to run through all of our pieces today." The students shuffled through their music as she spoke. "Let's start with 'Le Chaton dans la Fenêtre,'" she said. "Let's run through it right quick. Remember, this is a very emotional piece, which is why I picked it for you to play. Now, clarinets, remember your dynamics, and keep them even. And trumpets, short in the eighth page. You seemed to drag yesterday. Nobody wants to hear a trumpet drag, I tell you, nobody! Okay, here we go." Largo raised her baton, her heart pounding violently. "One, two, ready, and—" The band started playing. Largo felt her cheeks flush, and a chill ran up her spine. Never in her life had she heard such beautiful music. Then again, these students were the best musicians in the state; they were supposed to be meticulous about their music.

"Wonderful! Bravo!" Largo exclaimed. "However, I have a few suggestions to make. Let's listen to the clarinets in the last few measures. I need to check up on that. A few of you sounded slightly sharp in some places." The clarinets played the measures perfectly in tune, fixing the minor spots that Largo had pointed out. She lowered her baton and smiled out at the eager faces before her. They didn't in the least suspect that she was the youngest one in the room. Maybe she really was twenty-six years old. Maybe she was this outstanding musician that everyone believed her to be.

"Tell you what." Largo finally said. "I'm gonna give you all a thirty-minute break. Go indulge yourself in music, culture, and Spike's chocolate." Ryn giggled and left the auditorium as she was instructed.

After every student had evacuated the concert hall, Largo went out to explore the center. She browsed through booths with ideas on teaching woodwinds, tuning methods, fundraising, and many other things music-related. Further down, a crowd of students were gathered around a booth where an old man was handing out chocolate samples. There was even an entire corner devoted to the history of the reed. "Hmm…" she murmured. However, she shivered a little when she said that; someone close by had mimicked her. Largo looked around, but she didn't see anyone. She continued to read, advancing into woodwinds of the middle ages.

"Did you know," a strikingly familiar voice said from behind her. "That the reed's ancestors are those little dillys you see stickin' up out of the riverbanks?" Largo turned, only to see the most familiar face of all staring her down. That thick-jawed grin was unmistakable; she definitely knew this man from somewhere. "In prehistoric times, the early people used them to call members of their tribes," he continued. He clasped his hands. Well, I guess I'm spoiling the exhibit for you, so I'd better stop." He blinked a few times, smiled again, and started to walk off.

"No!" Largo cried, suddenly. She blushed quickly. "Tell me more. Besides, that's a lot to read over there, anyhow."

"I suppose you know enough already," the man said. "You are, after all, the director of the top State band."

"Maybe," Largo replied, tossing her hair, "but I can't possibly have as much experience as those my senior."

"Hmm," the man replied, stroking his chin. "Where did you go to college?" he looked at her eagerly.

Largo didn't know what to say. She hadn't ever been to college. She was only in middle school. She looked up at the ceiling, noticing that the sun shone right through it and cast a warm glow on the entire interior of the center. "Stephen F. Austin in Nacogdoches," Largo said without thinking. "I was in the band under the direction of Dr. Allen. I also marched with the piccolo." Where was all of this information coming from? Largo had never even touched a piccolo, much less been allowed to play it. Moreover, she had never had any intentions of going to a smaller college, especially in Texas.

"Hey!" the man said. "I did, too! Except, of course, I played the clarinet." He grinned. Largo was driving herself crazy! She had never heard any of this information she was belting out before. In addition, this man was so familiar to her, it was unreal. She couldn't stand the position she was being put into by all of these people who looked up to her. She had to evacuate this strange place before someone realized that she was not this famous conductor at all, but just another petty eighth grader who somehow managed to wind up at the biggest music convention she had ever seen.

"Well," Largo said, uneasily. "I suppose I'd better hurry back. I gave the students a break, and it's just about time for them to come back." She smiled at the man, who gave her another one of those prominent grins.

"Maybe I'll run into you later, by perchance," he said.

"Hmm. Maybe so," Largo tossed her hair and headed back to the concert hall, dazed and confused.


	4. For Love or Money

For Love or Money

"..And in recent news, the Hollywood mogul is now happy at home with his beautiful bride. Ava is now partly in possession of his eighty million dollar fortune. And later today, we'll be taking a closer look at the happy couple's life at home here on FOX news..."

As the image of the blonde woman who had become an instant millionaire popped up onscreen, the young woman switched the television off, running her fingers through her long brown hair. She walked to the window of the little room that she called home. The threadbare curtains that hung over the glass were useless; someone outside could climb the fire escape and get a front-row view of whatever she was up to. She looked around the room. A broken mirror hung crooked on the opposite wall, and it was accented by the off-white paint that was peeling off of the wall behind it. The sofa, which rolled out into a bed, had seen much better days, and could stand a little straightening up. There was no telling what had happened to the olive-green carpet that she stood on as of the moment; perhaps dozens of people had accommodated this room before she had. However, she had bigger dreams than this room portrayed.

The girl rolled over on the sofa and started digging through her tattered brown suitcase. At last, she pulled out a short blonde wig. She knotted her stringy hair up in a tight bun and placed the wig on top of it. Over that, she threw on a long, black trench coat that held all of her personal belongings. Smiling to herself, the girl strapped on a pair of high heels and slipped out of the apartment building.

The scent of the night life was in the air, and even though it was past midnight, the streets were still packed as they had been in the evening. The city gleamed brightly with the overhead streetlights and corporate buildings that seemed to touch the midnight sky. The highways were jam-packed with taxis, limousines, and pizza-delivery vans. Men in black tuxedos passed by the neon signs of shops on one side of the street, and scantily dressed young girls giggled as they stumbled into nightclubs. The city was abuzz with life during the hours of darkness, and that was just what Krista had been trying to avoid.

She reached into her pocket, grasping the knife that had once belonged to her grandfather. The blade felt cold against her hands. In her other pocket, she felt bits of spare change rattling against shards of a broken CD. She looked down one street, then down the other, and in a quick motion dashed across the road, narrowly missing a large truck. She raised her eyebrows to herself, wondering what had compelled her to do that. Surely she hadn't chosen to run out in front of that vehicle herself. She stopped at a nearby phone booth, leaning against it as if the cool night air would whisk it away. Frantically, she picked up the phone, dialing the number as quickly as possible.

"Hello?" the low, raspy voice said on the other end.

"You got the stuff?" Krista whispered.

"You got the money?"

"Not yet," she hissed. "I'll have it by dawn."

"You swear on your life?"

"Yeah, whatever."

Krista hung up and called for a taxi. An old yellow jalopy, similar to those of your old 1940s cinemas, screeched to a halt. Krista looked around suspiciously, and then climbed in. The man in the front seat was your average cab driver. He wore a white t-shirt that he obviously hadn't changed in a couple of days, and his tan-and black checkered cap was faded and distressed. His eyebrows met on the bridge of his nose to become one, which brought notice to the rough facial hair around his chin. He took the smoky cigar from his mouth and looked at Krista in his mirror. "You goin' somewhere, ma'am?" he asked.

Krista stared at him, angrily. "What, you think I'm up to something?" she said. She became angry. "Because I'm not. I'm just trying to get to my uncle's house for dinner!"

"Sweetie, dontcha think it's a lil' late out for supper?" He looked at her with his brown puppy-dog eyes.

"I don't think you have the liberty to tell me when to eat," Krista snapped. She motioned for the cab driver to turn around and do his job. "To East Pierre." The driver heaved a sigh and revved the engine. It turned over a few times, being an ancient vehicle, but after a few cranks, the driver finally got it going.

Krista huddled up against the window in the backseat of the taxi, her heart pounding like an anvil. She hated these city cars. They always smelled of cigar smoke with a hint of alcohol and molded food. She didn't have a car of her own. She couldn't remember ever having a car of her own. In fact, she couldn't remember much about her childhood at all. She had no fond nostalgia of elementary school, nor did she recall having any best friends. Sure, she had acquaintances, but no one that she could put all of her trust into. She couldn't remember anything past what had happened a few days ago. For some reason, she didn't like to be around people. Whenever she would enter a restaurant, the big families at the long tables would always turn and look at her, as if she were some kind of outcast. In shopping centers, the employees would always be uneasy around her. One time, even, she had entered a gas station owned by a family of Catholics. Upon her arrival, the middle-aged woman at the counter had drawn an imaginary cross across her chest and passed out. She wondered just what she had done to make people so touchy about her presence, and she was determined to find out.

"Here we are, miss, at East Pierre." The driver turned around and leaned over the seat. "This must be where that kazillionaire lives, huh?" He smiled at Krista, but she didn't smile back. "That'll be—"

"Put it on my tab," Krista said, stepping out of the car. The cab emitted a few odd noises, and then commenced returning to the heart of the city.

Krista shiftily scuttled up to the front gate. She looked down the cobblestone street, which was lit only by the dim streetlights and the headlights of cars that were miles away. Suddenly, a figure in black appeared at the end of the road. Krista motioned for it to come near. Upon approaching her, it threw its hood back. The man shook his thick blonde hair out of his eyes, giving Krista a smug, lustful look. She smirked back, knowing what he was going to say.

"Hey, babe," he said, smoothly. "You ready to rock this joint?"

"Shut up, Christoph," she said. "I've got it all worked out."

"You're pretty," he replied. "But you look better without that blonde w—"

"Shhh!" she hissed, putting her hand over his mouth. "Just follow me." She pulled the knife out of her pocket, unlocking the metal gates with ease. "The old fool," Krista murmured to herself. "Didn't even bother to get an alarm system. Ha!"

"I thought we were s'posed to be—" Christoph started.

"Shut up!" Krista hissed again.

"…quiet."

You'd expect a millionaire and his wife to think people were going to try to break into their home. Quite the contrary, the two made it up the hill rather easily. Upon reaching the large hardwood doors, Krista pulled out her knife and aimed it at Christoph. He flinched in horror. Krista said nothing; she just pointed the knife from Christoph to a nearby trellis.

"Start cutting," she said. There's no way in unless we get rid of these thorns first. Christoph stared at her for a second, then nodded and began hacking away at the thorny roses.

"So why are we doing this again?" Christoph said.

Krista looked up from digging through her black duffel bag, giving his a disgusted look. He immediately turned back to his work. Krista felt a chill run up her spine. She honestly had no idea what she was doing, much less why. All this time, she had been sneaking around, doing all of these things she would have never dreamed of doing. Now she was having roses cut off of a poor old man's mansion. It felt as if she were being forced to have these things happen, as if destiny had all of a sudden decided that it wasn't in her hands anymore. She didn't know how to stop it, nor what the force was. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud on the ground. She threw herself against the outside wall, her heart throbbing wildly. She looked down, only to see Christoph lying flat on his face in front of her.

"Sorry," he said.

"Sorry!" Krista hissed, angrily, taking the knife from his bleeding hand. "Do you realize that they probably know we're out here—" All of a sudden, the front door opened. An elderly man in a dark blue nightcap peeked out, sensing that Christoph and Krista were there. They didn't budge from their spots.

"Ava?" he called. Apparently, Krista's blonde wig gave him some suggestion that she was his wife. Krista didn't move. "Honey, what youse doin' out there? You's s'posed ta be at yer friend's house, now, aren't yeh?"

"I'm so terribly sorry, deah, I came home early." Krista said, suddenly. Her heart jumped. Where had that come from? "I suppose I'd best be getting into bed now." Her feet led her into the mansion, leaving Christoph watching her in disbelief.

"Now, honey," he said with his prominent New York accent. "Let's get ya inta something pretty fer tanight. Ya don't wanna look like a hobo er something, do ya?" Krista looked though the window at the far corner of the room, noticing that Christoph watching her every move. "Now, why don't I take yer bag, now, I'll carry it up to yer room."

Krista pulled her bag out of his reach. "No!" she said. "I mean, uh, I'll do it. You go on to bed, and I'll be there in a second." She watched him carefully as he strode upstairs and into his bedroom. She looked around the room. It actually seemed like a pretty pleasant place to live. The tile was perfectly clean, especially in contrast to the carpet back at Krista's apartment, and you could see a clear reflection of the glass chandelier that hung overhead. The two massive stairways that were carpeted with complicated crimson rugs collided at the top to create a 'Gone with the Wind' effect. Pictures that were obviously the old man's ancestors splashed color on the marble walls. Krista shook her head and realized that she couldn't just stand around and ogle at the majesty of the millionaire's home; she had a duty to fulfill, and she was going to carry it out tonight.

She walked into the room where the man was half-asleep. The bed itself was almost as fancy as the main room of the house. Its posts extended to the ceiling, and made the mogul look like a dwarf. He looked so at peace with the world in his doze, it was a pity. Yet, Krista had to do what she had come for, yet she had no reason to be here at all.

"Honey," she whispered. "I've got something for you." Her heart pounded. If he opened his eyes, it would all be over.

"Mmm…yes, dear?" he mumbled. He was more asleep than Krista thought. Maybe he'd stay down.

"I've got a little something for you." Krista couldn't bear it. Her heart beat so loudly, she was positive he could at least hear it faintly resonating throughout the massive bedroom.

"Mmm? Really, now?" he said. He stayed burrowed deep under his blankets. "Would it by chance be fun?"

"You could say that." Krista replied.

He rolled over, but kept his eyes closed. "Would it, by chance, be…I don't know, exciting?"

"Maybe a little," Krista replied.

"I think I know what it is now, honey," he muttered, chuckling, "but I'll take one more guess. How about…maybe a little pain involved?"

"I guess." Krista was sure he'd figured her out. She had to do her job and get out of there as quickly as possible.

"Well, sweetie, if you really want to, then come on in! Don't be shy, now!" He never opened his eyes, but he pushed back the blankets.

This was Krista's chance. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her knife. She ran her finger along the long, sharp blade. Taking a deep breath, she thrust the dagger into the heart of the old man. She cackled with delight, pulling the knife out and penetrated his body several more times. However, in a matter of seconds, she and her partner were long gone, leaving the lifeless body of the Hollywood tycoon behind.


End file.
